Turnabout
by That Buggy Girl
Summary: TF:A. All's fair in love, war and revenge...And turnabout is certainly fair play. Welcome to Wasp's life after his escape from the stockade. COMPLETE.
1. Dismisal

**Notes:** This is a drabble series of some great popularity that I decided I would post for y'all here who might not have livejournal or be in the TF:A community there. It is writen in completion and being posted when I feel like it. This was the first bit I wrote, though the story partially works backwards from here. This one was specifically vague until the ending, and I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

**_turnabout  
_****–noun  
**1. act of turning in a different or opposite direction.  
2. a change of opinion, loyalty, etc.  
3. a person who changes things; a radical.  
4. a reciprocal action; act of doing to someone exactly as that person has done to oneself or another.

* * *

"I did what you wanted me to…Now get lost, kid."

"Wait!"

The other mech turned, glaring over his shoulder, optics narrowed. "I told you…Get. Lost."

He stood frozen, pinned by that bright, calculating stare. The words, the tone, that look…All perfectly conveyed the other's desire to never see him again, sorry little defect that he was. But he didn't want to be left behind and alone again; he was forgotten too often.

"Look, I brought you to Earth. You're here. It's what you wanted." Crimson arms folded across his chest, the taller mech leaned against the open hatch of his starhopper, looking disdainfully at the small reject. "And I know what you're thinking now…I did you a favor and you did a few things in return. Now you think you can stay with me. It's not going to happen." He laughed, the sound screechy and scornful, "Look at me; I'm aesthetically pleasing, talented, brilliant…You're a pathetic nobody with a vendetta."

He did look, violet optics scanning over the slender, streamlined frame from foot to crest. That smirk, that shrewd gaze, the way he carried himself; so dignified and sure of himself. Even now, propped against the hatch with one hip jutting out, arms crossed, expression one of bored contempt…He looked as if he owned the world.

He himself was small and broken and he clicked nervously, vocalizer straining for words he wanted to say but couldn't force out. He Ihad/I been like that, once, and maybe then they would have been equals, but now…Who was he kidding? It had all been a farce; an act…He had pretended to be nice so he could get what he wanted and it had worked; the small mech wanted him more than anything. But none of it meant anything to him; he was a renegade Decepticon and his own gain was all that was important.

"You're not a bad kid. In fact, you've got a lot of potential." The red mech turned, lingering a moment and tossing another sneer over his shoulder as the hatch slid shut, "Come find me again when you grow some wings."

That had been many, many orbital cycles ago.

Now, he looked down at his hands, clawed fingers opening and closing. He fluttered his new wings experimentally, watching the purple shadows they cast dance on the ground. With his reformat, he was bigger, better, stronger…Everything he had been before the imprisonment and more.

But he hadn't forgotten.

_"Come find me again when you grow some wings."_

Oh yes, he would come all right, now that he had some wings. As soon as he was done with Bumblebot, he would go looking and it wouldn't be long before he would find that little starhopper and its smug, know-it-all pilot. And then he would pick him apart, shiny limb by shiny limb, saving those wings he was so proud of for last, and make him suffer the same humiliation and torture he had.

And he would make Terrorsaur pay for dismissing him so quickly.


	2. The Price You Pay

**Note:** As I mentioned in the first part, I'm posting these in no semblance of order. This actually takes place long before the first one.

-

It was easy.

It was so incredibly easy.

All it took was a look or a smile or even the most casual touch…And the little glitch was tripping all over himself to do whatever he asked. Mundane tasks, less than savory tasks; it didn't matter what he wanted, it would be done. Wasp was the closest thing to a slave any one could have. He was so desperate for a kind word here or there, he would do anything to please.

Terrorsaur _loved_ it.

Unlike the rest of the Decepticons, he hadn't been driven from his home at the end of the war. No, Terrorsaur had chosen to leave, after years of disillusionment with the cause. Megatraon preached a lot of things, but the red mech had gotten tired of listening when none of them came to pass. So he had left, taking what he felt was due to him -- The starhopper he'd used to run messages back and forth from camp to camp. He'd never been any one important enough to be missed, so his escape to freedom had hardly been difficult.

Of course, it came with a price. He hated having to do all the work around the tiny ship himself; maintenance was a pain in the aft! And given the indolent nature of the red flyer, Wasp -obnoxious, glitchy little Wasp- was like a gift from Primus.

A certain look and the ship's computer would be defragged, software patches applied.

A kind word here or there and the space barnacles would be scorched off the hull.

A teasing grin and the little mech would rush off to start the tedious process of locating Swindle and convincing him to let Terrorsaur run another load of arms for him in exchange for energon.

And if he happened to run one clawed finger across a gangly arm…

Well, there were some things Terrorsaur just _couldn't_ take care of on his own.

It didn't take much; Wasp was eager and young, not to mention starved for affection. And when it was over, he would lay curled up, processor blown, face hidden protectively in his arms while he tried to regain control of himself.

Terrorsaur would stretch out beside him, hands folded under his head, a pleased smirk on his face. He didn't allow himself to wonder where the smaller mech had learned to do the things he could do; he suspected he was better off not knowing. It wasn't any of his business, anyway, as long as he got what he wanted, and none of this would matter any more once he dropped the little fragger off on Earth.

He didn't let himself look at the pathetic form balled up beside him, either, or he would start to care.

And then things wouldn't be so easy any more.


	3. A Simple Conversation

**Notes:** Having seen "Where is Thy Sting?" I am incredibly glad they never bothered to explain how Wasp got to Earth. That fact has made my little series here so much more plausible. Here's Terrorsaus being a bit of a jerk...And Wasp showing his true colors.

-

It _was_ kind of nice having some one to talk to. As much as Terrorsaur liked the sound of his own voice, he did get a little bored from time to time and…playing with Wasp was an amusing way to pass the long endless orbital cycles of space.

"What are you going to do once you've gotten your revenge on this 'Bumblebot' slagger?"

Wasp looked up in surprise, not quite expecting the question. Terrorsaur was lounging idly in the ship's one seat, feet propped up on the control console. He was gazing out into the empty vacuum of space, a bored look plastered across his face.

The red mech didn't ask him many questions. Wasp knew it was because he couldn't bother to care and why would he? He was a Decepticon and the former Autobot considered himself lucky that he hadn't been slagged on sight. But not off-lining him and caring were two vastly different things; Wasp was fairly certain that the only reason Terrorsaur put up with him was that he was getting free labor out of the deal.

"Wasp not know." He finally mumbled, rocking a little where he sat on the floor, fingers raking compulsively over his knee joints. "Just need to get back at Bumblebot…Then figure that out."

A contemptuous snort followed that statement. "You want to go to Earth to get back at this little Autobrat who may or may not still be there and you have no idea what you're going to do after that? What if you can't find him? And what the slag are you gonna do if you _do_ find him?"

"Bumblebot ruined Wasp's life!" The small mech's fingers curled into a fist and slammed into the metal plating of the starhopper's wall. "Bumblebot is going to pay…Going to _suffer_ for what he did to Wasp!"

"Puh-lease." Terrorsaur's feet dropped back to the floor and he swiveled the chair, turning to face Wasp. "You're the most sorry excuse for a mech I've ever seen and you think you're going to hurt some one?" His optics narrowed and a wide, taunting grin split his face, "That's about as likely as me becoming friends with Ultra Magnus."

"Shut up!" Wasp was on his feet in a flash, trembling with pent up rage, stingers pointed squarely at Terrorsaur's gleaming chest plate. "Slaggin'…Not understand! Couldn't understand! Don't know what Wasp has been through; couldn't ever understand!"

"Cool your jets, bug." Terrorsaur rose, unfurling to his full height. He didn't quite tower over the Autobot, but the size difference was enough to be intimidating. His mouth was drawn in a hard line, optics narrowed to crimson slits. "If you zap me, I'm going to open the hatch and throw you out and then you'll never get your slaggin' revenge."

Wasp glared at him defiantly, but lowered his stingers. "Do that and no one clean up ship anymore." He grumbled, arms folding across his chest, chin tipped up.

The red flyer looked at him for a moment, then laughed, the sound grating and filling the small space. "You're all right, kid." And he flopped back into his chair, kicking up his feet once more, a fangy grin settling in place on his face. He knew that Wasp would just curl back up in his spot in the corner, subdued and licking his proverbial wounds. Altercations like this didn't happen frequently, but they were an often enough occurrence that Terrorsaur hadn't been surprised.

Wasp might've been a pathetic little Autobot, but he had spirit and _that_ was what made him worthwhile to have around. It had been a long time since Terrorsaur had been able to argue with any one and it had been even longer since he'd been this amused.

That in and of itself was almost enough to make Terrorsaur think he might miss the little slagger when he was gone.


	4. Arrival

**Notes: **This instalment takes place immediately before the first drabble.

-

Neither of them had ever seen a planet so…_blue_ before.

In another time, they might have been able to appreciate the beauty of Earth. Terrorsaur had a penchant to admire aesthetically pleasing things, after all, and Wasp, with his broken processor, was easily impressed.

As it was, neither of them was in the right mind to be impressed.

Wasp had his face and hands pressed up against the glass of the starhopper's windshield, watching the organic planet growing in size as they approached. One of his feet was tapping and his vocalizer was emitting an impatient buzz. He was full of nervous anticipation; this was a moment he'd been awaiting for a long, long time.

He was that much closer to his revenge.

Terrorsaur was slumped in the pilot's seat, arms folded, scowl firmly in place. He wished the little defect would relax; he was making the flyer edgy.

It had taken them a long time to reach Earth. There had been detours and stops along the way -the two of them had to refuel every now and then, after all, and staying in Swindle's good graces meant doing things in his time, not their own- and though they hadn't really run into any trouble, Terrorsaur hadn't been in any particular hurry, either.

He had startled himself when, about halfway through their journey, he'd realized that he _would_ miss the little 'bot.

There was just something about him; some fire in him…Terrorsaur was sure the kid could've gone far, if his life hadn't gone to the Pit. It really was a shame he'd been created an Autobot; something about his personality screamed "Decepticon!" If you looked hard enough, under his paranoia and broken speech, he was quick-witted and insulting and he gave as good as he got.

With the slow trickle of time…Terrorsaur had come to like him, and that was a dangerous thing.

He had let himself care! He'd told himself not to, but it had happened anyway, so gradually that he hadn't been able to stop it because he hadn't even noticed it. And now he didn't know how to stop it; he was stuck with it!

As he watched the planet approaching, everything seemed to be unraveling. Wasp would march off to get his revenge and would likely get himself slagged, then he would be angry because he had _let himself care_and he would probably do something stupid and oh what had become of his life! When had he become a mech who cared about others? He should have been laughing, knowing the little brat would just wind up an oil smear on a foreign planet.

Instead, he wanted to keep the broken Autobot there, to do his chores, maintain his ship and keep him from being bored.

The starhopper had been programmed to track Autobot energy signatures. As they touched down in Warren, Michigan, Wasp was practically vibrating with anticipation. He turned away from the pane of glass, rocking on his heals and rubbing his hands together, muttering to himself about making Bumblebot pay.

Terrorsaur felt something in his systems cool as he watched the smaller mech. This was a part of Wasp he had never seen; a part that was positively murderous.

When the hatch slid open, Wasp scurried towards it; towards freedom of the open air and the uncertainty of the unknown. Terrorsaur followed, watching. The little mech was halfway down the ramp, however, when he paused, turning back, expression more like his usual one of cautious paranoia.

"When…When is over, can Wasp come back?" The question was punctuated with a nervous click-whir and an almost hopeful look.

Terrorsaur's eyes narrowed at that. There would be no "when this is over" because he was certain Wasp was going to get himself killed. And it was time to protect what normalcy was left in his life. He had to start looking out for himself again.

For a moment, he didn't answer. Instead, he turned to go back inside.

It was time to hurt Wasp before he let himself be hurt.


	5. Pleasant Recharge

**Notes:** Warning for slaaaaaaash!

-

Wasp liked to hide when he was entering a recharge cycle.

The abuse he'd faced during his time in the stockade left him incapable of recharging properly and he tended to relive the whole horrendous experience while he was resting. His nightmares were not a pleasant thing and he knew he had a tendency to whimper in his sleep. Terrorsaur already thought he was pathetic…He would have liked to prevent him from finding even more reasons to think so.

Unfortunately, there weren't many places in the small ship where he could hide, despite his diminutive size.

His favorite place was beneath the control module, which was designed with a lot of leg room in mind. Terrorsaur himself wasn't a particularly large mech, but the starhopper was of Decepticon make, and therefore meant to house mechs of considerably larger proportions. It was the perfect place for a small-framed Autobot like Wasp to curl up and hide.

Sometimes, however, it was harder to escape than others.

It was those moments when he found Terrorsaur sprawled beside him, smirking and sated, that made him panic the most. At times like that, he found himself feigning recharge, curled in on himself, face hidden. If the Decepticon thought he'd powered down, he would let himself slip off and then Wasp would be free to make his escape.

_That_ time…Things were different.

Terrorsaur had set the starhopper on autopilot, that certain lascivious grin on his face that left Wasp with no doubt whatsoever as to what he wanted. The smaller mech didn't mind; Terrorsaur was actually a lot less brutal than most of the hulking Decepticons who'd gone after him when he was imprisoned.

It helped that he was beautiful.

It also helped that he never forced anything. Wasp knew exactly what to expect and as long as he performed up to the standard he'd set the first time, there would be no problems.

That time, however, Terrorsaur had dropped off quickly, a pleased smile spread across his face. Wasp thought he'd be able to make a quick escape - he was exhausted himself - but suddenly, unexpectedly, the flyer rolled over, tossing an arm over Wasp's waist and pulling him close.

For a moment, Wasp froze, not even allowing his ventilation system to exhaust. He stared at the offline form of the other mech, optics bright with panic. What was he going to do? How could he escape without waking the Decepticon? There was no way he could let himself recharge there, so close; he would wake the other mech which would only lead to an awkward, embarrassing situation he wanted to avoid.

He thought for a moment, processor racing. If he was careful…He tried to remove himself from the other mech's grasp, carefully; slowly.

Terrorsaur frowned in his sleep, tightening his arm.

Wasp lay there for a long time, perfectly still again and forcing himself to stay online. He had to fight to stay awake; if he fell into recharge it would be terrible, a disaster, the last thing he wanted, but he was just so, so…

Everything was dark and confining and shadows were everywhere, stalking him; chasing him…Something was holding him in place, he couldn't move; he couldn't move; he couldn't move; he couldn't-!

Wasp jolted back online screaming.

"Hey…Hey, stop! Stop screaming; it's just me, you moron."

Some one was shaking him lightly, voice reaching his audios and not quite registering. Wasp forced himself to focus, turning violet optics towards the sound, making himself look and listen; muting the scream to a small whimper.

Terrorsaur.

Thank Primus.

The little Autobot dove forwards, practically tackling the larger mech and clinging to him. Terrorsaur patted his back, awkward and clumsy in his attempt at comfort. Wasp was mumbling something over and over; something about dark and scary things. He was trembling, fingers scrabbling to gain purchase on Terrorsaur's armor, little buzzing noises coming from his vocal processor.

Terrorsaur didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He merely looked down at the still shaking mech and wondered for the umpteenth time what the slag he'd gotten himself into.


	6. Business as Usual

**Notes:** I decided that Terrorsaur earns some extra credits/money/whatever by making deliveries for Swindle. Of course, he's gonna drag Wasp along to help. Again, as I mentioned before, these aren't going in chronological order. This obviously takes place before they arrived on Earth.

...I found Swindle REALLY hard to write.

-

Swindle wasn't a particularly large mech, but his boxy frame was enough to make him seem imposing. He was taller than Terrorsaur, with stockier limbs and a more domineering presence. Though the flyer believed the sun rose and set on him, Swindle demanded more attention just by being in a place than Terrorsaur ever could. And though he was smiling amiably, Wasp knew better than to trust him. The gleaming Decepticon insignia on his chest was more than enough to intimidate the small Autobot.

Terrorsaur looked positively scrawny next to him, all long, gangly limbs and streamlined body. But he held himself with the same composure and arrogance as always, trying to make himself seem more important than he could ever be. Wasp allowed himself the luxury of a moment to wonder again where this confidence came from; clearly forgetting that he used to be the same way.

"Terrorsaur, you sonuva glitch!" Swindle greeted the flyer as if they were the best of the friends, "Good to see you haven't gotten yourself capture by Autobots yet! How's my favorite runner doing these days? Your finish is looking exceptionally polished today and what's this? Have you found yourself a partner?"

Terrorsaur shrugged elegantly, expression non-committal. "I can't complain." Was his bland response. He completely ignored the queries about Wasp; he really didn't feel the need to explain. He didn't particularly like the arms dealer, but business was business and he had to earn a living somehow.

Wasp shrank back, half hiding behind Terrorsaur as Swindle took a step or two closer, trying to get a better look at him. He was still smiling broadly, and that in and of itself made him all the more terrifying. Wasp had seen that look before and the mechs who wore it were usually the worst type of sadistic lunatics. The little 'bot gave him a withering glare, folding in on himself defensively.

"Where _did_ you dig up this little scrap, Terrorsaur?" The arms dealer glanced back up at said mech, tone curious.

Terrorsaur folded his arms across his chest, optics narrowing slightly. "What does it matter?" He wasn't at all pleased with this; he just wanted Swindle to give him the shipment and his down payment so they could get the slag off this barren moon they'd agreed to meet on.

Swindle, of course, was not to be deterred so easily.

"Is he an Autobot?" He reached out, grasping Wasp by the arm and pulling him from behind Terrorsaur to get a closer look. "Where did you get an Autobot? If I'd known you were into that sort of thing, I could've found some one a bit more…substantial for you."

Two things happened immediately following that. Terrorsaur tensed, vocalizer emitting a warning hiss, clawed fingers clenching. Slag yeah it bothered him; he didn't like the implication that he had _bought_ the Autobot like he had to pay for his pleasure or something. He may not have had many scruples, but that just crossed a line.

Wasp was less subtle; he wrenched his wrist out of Swindle's grasp, stingers charging, arms swinging up. The blast was so sudden and unexpected that Swindle stumbled back, little jolts of electricity still crackling across his armor. Wasp's stingers weren't particularly damaging when it came to Decpeticons, but at that close of a range, they were more than adequate.

When he stepped backwards into a crater, the arms dealer went crashing to the ground, one last jolt of electricity arcing across his prone body.

Terrorsaur stepped over him, not bothering to give him a second glance. "Let's get the slag out of here." He growled, grabbing the fuming Autobot by the arm and dragging him back towards their ship.

"But…" It took a moment for the reality of what he'd done to sink in and suddenly Wasp realize that there was a very real possibility that he was about to be in big, big trouble.

"I said let's go!" The flyer snapped, grip tightening enough to be painful, and that cinched it; Wasp _knew_ he was in big trouble.


	7. Punishment

**Notes:** Some slashy overtones to this chapter, but nothing *too* terrible. Anyway, there's nothing like being insulted to turn a good boy bad...And nothing like a bad boy to get Terrorsaur going.

-

Terrorsaur didn't let go of Wasp's wrist until the duo was back aboard the starhopper. He all but shoved the little Autobot through the hatch, a severe expression still twisting his usually pleasant features.

This was it…This was the end. Wasp had attacked Terrorsaur's employer and now…Terrorsaur was going to lose his business and he was either going to offline him or dump him or _something_. He would never get to Earth; he would never get revenge on Bumblebee, he would lose his home and his life would be over or in a shambles again.

He wasn't sure which part was worse, the part where he wouldn't get to slag that insufferable brat or the part where he had to leave the only thing familiar and safe.

"Sorry!" He squeaked as he stumbled further into the tiny ship, "Wasp not mean to-"

"Why are you apologizing?" The scowl vanished, only to be replaced by a confused look. Terrorsaur canted his head to the side, studying the smaller mech curiously. "He deserved that."

"But…"

The look of utter bewilderment on Wasp's face was almost comical. He looked so confused that Terrorsaur couldn't help grinning. "I told you to stay quiet," He shrugged, "And you did. I also told you to do exactly what I said. I didn't tell you _not_ to shock him, soo…"

"But he gonna be mad!" Wasp frowned up at him, uncertain why Terrorsaur was treating this like a joke. This was his _job_ they were talking about! "Lose job; no energon!"

"He'll get over it." The flyer waved a hand dismissively, "Infighting is nothing we aren't used to; you did what any Decepticon would have."

"Wasp is not Decepticon!" The smaller mech folded his arms across his chest, turning his back on Terrorsaur and stomping his foot a little. Though it wasn't the first time he'd been in public with other Decepticons around, this was the first time it had been hinted that maybe he was really a traitor to the Autobot cause and that didn't sit well with him at all.

A slow smirk blossomed across Terrorsaur's face as he leaned in so that he was face to face with the smaller mech again. "Wasp isn't really an Autobot any more though, is he?"

The buzz Wasp's vocal processor emitted at that should have been a warning. It wasn't. A second later, Terrorsaur found himself sprawled on the floor, the result of Wasp's fist colliding with his face.

He lay there for a moment, dazed from the impact and a bit stunned that Wasp had actually _hit_ him. They had argued before, yeah, but it had never come to blows. It seemed the little Autobot was growing a bit of a support rod.

Even after the shock wore off, he made no move to right himself. Instead, he grabbed Wasp by the wrist, pulling the 'bot down with him. Wasp squawked in surprise, instinctively reaching to keep himself from hitting the floor, and Terrorsaur delighted in the delicious friction caused by their chest plates sliding together when Wasp landed on top of him.

Wasp trembled at the contact, body twitching erratically when one golden claw teased along a delicate seam. He off-lined his optics, trying to cool his suddenly overheated systems and remain in control of himself. "You're bold…It's why I like you." The flyer's voice was low and startlingly close to his audio receptor; Wasp could practically _hear_ the smirk that was likely still plastered across his face.

He wanted to tell Terrorsaur he hated him, to let him go, stop touching him; it made him sick, anything…But he suddenly found that he couldn't speak; couldn't move. The words rattled around in his processor, seeking release that he couldn't grant them. He didn't say them. He _couldn't_ say them.

They would have been a lie, anyway.


	8. Three Truths

**Notes:** Here are a few personality quirks I've been considering in regards to our friend Terrorsaur. He doesn't do anything he does without reason, and these things are the reasons for his actions.

-

There are three things most other mechs don't know about Terrorsaur.

They aren't things that he makes known, because to be anything but the image he presents to the universe would make him vulnerable in the eyes of other Decepticons. But they are there nonetheless, no matter how much he suppresses them, and they often rule his actions.

He hates to be alone.

He knows how to appreciate beautiful things.

He prefers routine over chaos.

The little mech wasn't the best company, but he was just that -- company. Terrorsaur was not a solitary individual by any means, though he presented himself as otherwise. He liked having some one around to talk with, to brag to and to argue with. Wasp filled his needs in that regard perfectly.

Wasp wasn't beautiful in the conventional sense of the word, but Terrorsaur saw something in him anyway. The flyer had an eye for the aesthetically pleasing and he just knew that, somehow, Wasp was beautiful. The Autobot was so fragile, so easily shattered, and Terrorsaur knew that the most beautiful things were also the most breakable.

Terrorsaur was a creature of habit. His days were followed the same basic schedule, no matter how mundane they were. Online, refuel, go about the daily business, check the ship, perform routine maintenance, enjoy the company in the meantime. Wasp's presence had altered the routine, but Terrorsaur had acclimated until the Autobot's presence was just as routine as ventilating his exhaust.

Without Wasp, Terrorsaur was alone, with no one to talk to.

Without Wasp, he had nothing beautiful to admire, save for himself, and the time he'd spent with the little mech had left him less self-absorbed than before.

Without Wasp…Well, Terrorsaur just couldn't get back into the habit of being alone.

And that is why -even though he'd made it perfectly clear he wanted the small, glitchy Autobot to get lost and he doesn't expect to see him again- the little starhopper and its lone occupant remain in Warren, Michigan.

Just in case.


	9. Once Upon a Time

**Notes:** As I mentioned before, these aren't being posted in any chronological order. This is actually their first meeting and would be the first event if you timelined their life together.

Thanks to the few of you who took the time to review the last part. It really brightens my day! :3

-

It was dark, except for the weird orange light reflecting off the gleaming space bridge.

It was cold.

It was empty.

There was no way to escape.

Wasp hadn't been in his right mind when he'd fled the stockade. He wasn't thinking; didn't have a plan. How he'd managed to get to the space bridge on the asteroid was a mystery in and of itself. He'd been powered by blind rage and pure desperation; he _had_ to get out. He _had_ to make Bumblebot pay.

And now he was trapped and oh Primus! it would only be a matter of time before Sentinel was back or others; the Elite Guard was after him, of course they were! He was an escaped convict, a suspected Decepticon sympathizer and a worthless piece of trash.

Or he would offline here, cold, alone and broken.

What would he do; what would he do; what would he _do_? What? What? What? There was no leaving the asteroid. There was no way to activate the space bridge; he had no codes! He ground his hands together, twitching and rocking, trying to think of something; anything. There was nothing; nothing, noth-!

A shadow, dark and foreboding, fell across him.

"Need a lift somewhere?"

Words, the voice full of sarcasm and screech. It took his processor a moment to decipher the question.

His head jerked up.

A Decepticon.

Later, Wasp would come to the conclusion that Terrorsaur could never possibly look any more beautiful than he had at that moment.

But in that moment…He was a nightmare come to life.


	10. Twice Upon a Time

Incidentally, the first thought that crossed Wasp's mind wasn't one of terror. Though he knew being found by a Decepticon was bad news, the only thing that his addled processor could come up with was "that is the oddest looking Decepticon I've ever seen."

The other mech was slender, with a streamlined body and a gleaming paintjob. He was nowhere near as bulky as the typical Decepticon, nor as tall. He was clearly a flier, but something about the shape of his wings suggested that his alt mode was not typical of the average Cybertronian.

Despite himself, Wasp was intrigued.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he gaped up at the terrifyingly unique form of the Decepticon towering over him.

The red mech shifted suddenly, and reality came crashing back. With it came the very real possibility that this Decepticon would trash him, just because. Wasp leapt to his feet, stingers already charging, and plowed into the larger Transformer before he even knew what was happening.

The Decepticon fell backwards, flailing and pinned between a boulder and the smaller form of Wasp. He let out an outraged screech, clawed hands rising and wrapping around Wasp's throat. He easily pried the Autobot off and shook him, holding him so his feet were dangling inches above the ground. Wasp's feet flailed uselessly, trying to find purchase on a surface they could no longer reach.

"I meant it." The Decpeticon hissed, shrill voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "I need some one to do some repairs on my ship…I would have given you a ride in return for that." His optics narrowed, a hateful expression crossing his face, "But what use do I have for Autobot scum who shoots first and asks questions later?"

Wasp glared at him, going limp and dangling submissively in his grasp. "Let Wasp go." He strained to make the sentence come out right, but it didn't quite work and he cringed a little, twittering and waiting for the laughter that usually accompanied any words that came out of his vocal processor.

It never came.

Instead, the Decepticon actually _listened,_ dropping him in a heap on the ground. Wasp looked back up at him, wary, and pushed himself up, taking a step back.

"If Decpeticon take Wasp to Earth…Wasp do whatever he say." He offered slowly.

The grin that split the Decepticon's face at that was one of the most chilling things Wasp had ever seen.


	11. Appearances

**Notes:** DreamStoryWeaver -- I am going to say it for the fourth time and hope to not have to say it again: I AM NOT POSTING THESE IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER. They are being posted in the order they were written. They tell the story in its entirety, but don't go in any particular order.

As always, reviews are love!

-

Terrorsaur was not as imposing as he made himself seem.

He was nothing like the Decepticons that Wasp had encountered in the stockade; he was much less vicious and a lot smaller. Granted, he wasn't a prisoner nor any kind of war machine utterly devoted to the cause like most of the other inmates had been, so that might've explained the lack of bloodlust, but…He _was_ still a Decepticon, had still threatened him more than once, and Wasp was still leery of him.

But even his own wariness couldn't put a damper on his curiosity…He wanted to know where Terrorsaur's exotic alt mode had come from.

He had only seen it once; the lithe, slender form, gracefully folded wings that appeared to be constructed from something other than metal, the fluid way he moved…He was so sleek, so shiny, so…absolutely, perfectly glorious.

Wasp wanted to see it again.

He also learned quickly just how vain Terrorsaur was, and though he was a bit off-kilter, he was still knew he could use that to his advantage.

They were drifting through space Primus-only-knows where. Terrorsaur was in the command chair, feet propped on the main computer console. Wasp was beneath the console, trying to clean out a mess of dust and cobwebs from the system. Everything was quiet -- Too quiet.

Terrorsaur didn't mind. The quiet was better than the random humming and twittering Wasp sometimes did when he was working. It was perfect conditions for a stasis nap.

Until…

"Terror-con?"

So much for silence.

"What?" With a languid stretch, Terrorsaur removed his feet from the computer, leaning over to peer under the control panel at Wasp. The little nuisance didn't sound like he was having any problems…Rather, he just sounded curious.

"Wasp have been wondering…" The Autobot's buzzy, obnoxious voice drifted out of the darkness beneath the console, "Where you get alt mode? Is not Cybertronian, but is…" He trailed off, not sure how to finish the thought without embarrassing himself. It didn't seem to matter, though…The unfinished sentence was enough to arouse the 'Con's conceit.

"Do you like it?" Terrorsaur smirked, already knowing that he did, or why else would he be so curious? "I used to be a jet. I was designed for stealth and speed, but the jet mode just wasn't cutting it for me. So I found something better."

"But…where?" Wasp emerged from under the computer, covered in dust and looking up at him inquisitively.

Terrorsaur simply shrugged, shoulders rising elegantly, "When you're a runner, you go all kinds of odd places." Another smirk, and he traced a golden claw through the grime on Wasp's forearm, "Besides, it's none of your business." He could have explained, but what was the fun in that? The mystery of his alt mode was part of what made it beautiful.

"Wasp tell what happen to him!" The Autobot buzzed a little in anger, glaring up at the taller mech, "And won't even tell where stupid alt mode come from!" Another buzz, "Jerk."

An amused grin crossed Terrorsaur's face. "That was your own choice, Wasp." The look on he gave the other was one of absolute glee, as if he was delivering the punch line of his favorite joke, "You didn't have to tell me _anything_."

Wasp scowled, pushing by him to go wipe himself down. Honestly, when was the last time the lazy fragger had bothered to clean his ship? With all the slag he put up with, the least Terrorsaur could do was answer his questions.

The red mech simply sat back in his chair, ignoring the annoyed grumbling coming from behind him. Wasp could complain to himself all he wanted…It didn't matter. Sharing personal life stories _wasn't_ part of the deal.


	12. Then

Sometimes, Wasp let himself think about that magical, long ago time called Then.

Not often, because it only left him depressed in the end, but frequently enough to keep thoughts of his life as it had been from slipping altogether from his memory banks.

So he let himself think about Then, when he first arrived at boot camp, already knowing he would go far. The first encounter with Bumble-bot, the teasing, all the terribly hilarious things he and -what was his name?- Iron_something_ had done to the stupid little glitch. Getting in Sentinel's good graces; he was a natural with his stingers and deserved the glory swiftly approaching when upon completion of the training program…

Then was the time of everything before the world had come crashing down around him with the utterance of that one-word accusation: _"Traitor."_

Then was the time when he had been whole, when he didn't muddle his words or speak in a buzzing, broken tone.

Then was the time when he could remember _everything_, when he didn't have to strain so hard to process.

Then was the time when he had been sane and rational, when his whole life hadn't been fueled by anger and the desire for revenge.

Then was a time, far away and long forgotten, when he had been happy.

When he had had a future.

Now was a time where there was nothing.

Now there was only Terrorsaur. Lazy, arrogant, demanding Terrorsaur, with his screechy voice and seductive smiles. The Decepticon had this way of speaking, of looking at him…Of touching him. And then he was no longer in control of his own body, his own thoughts, his own _life_.

But Now was fleeting; Wasp knew it was a moment that would soon pass in the blink of an eye. It was a single second lost in an amount of time too vast to put a value on. Now was trivial; insignificant in the grand scheme of things. What was one moment in comparison to the million others he would live?

And yet…He clung to Now; to Terrorsaur and the moment, because he knew all too well how easy it was for Now to become that quickly vanishing time called Then.


	13. Never Go Back

**Notes:** Hello! This story is still alive and kicking. If you take the time to read it, please review. I, like most people, like to know what I'm doing right.

* * *

_How can Wasp possibly go back?_

Wasp was half a block away from where Terrorsaur had docked the starhopper when that thought first crossed his processor.

He hadn't stopped running since he'd fled the Autobot's base. Hadn't even bothered to transform to his vehicle mode; just ran and ran and ran, ignoring Earth cars and squishy things and anything that crossed his path. He had been tripping over his own feet the whole way; skidding in the rain and desperate to elude the fly-bots, Sentinel and Bumblebot's friends.

And now that he was _so_ close to safety…He had time to slow down and think. And thinking was proving to be bad, because how the slag was he supposed to go back, knowing that Terrorsaur had been right?

His frantic dash slowed to a creep as he skulked through the shadows, edging closer to the tiny, cloaked ship.

"_You're the most sorry excuse for a mech I've ever seen and you think you're going to hurt some one?"_

Terrorsaur's screechy voice drifted through his foggy processor, cruel and taunting. How long ago had that conversation taken place? He couldn't even remember…He just remembered that once upon a time, the Decepticon had laughed at him, telling him there was no way in the Pit he would ever get his revenge.

And now, no matter how much he wanted to go crawling back and curl up under the computer console; no matter how much he wanted to see Terrorsaur's face and listen to him brag; no matter how desperately he wanted the safety his companion had provided; no matter how much he wanted to cry and scream about how unfair it was and how stupid Bumblebot had everything…

There was no slaggin' way he could board that starhopper again.

Not after the way Terrorsaur had scoffed at his desire for revenge.

And especially not after the way the flyer had cruelly sent him away.


	14. Sacrifice

The longer Terrorsaur waited for Wasp to return, the more certain he was that the little Autobot was never coming back.

Warren was boring. The flyer had nothing to do and that left him with entirely too much time to think. He refused to leave and get back to his life; what if Wasp _did_ come back? As much as he told himself that the little glitch wouldn't return and as much as he told himself he shouldn't care if he did, anyway, Terrorsaur couldn't help caring. They had been through a lot together…And now he was worried.

And it was time to take matters into his own hands.

He didn't want to take the starhopper into Detroit; it was more likely he would be spotted by the Autobots or the remaining Decepticons if he moved the ship. Instead, he transformed, slender body folding into that of his alt mode, and took off, wings flapping gracefully as he followed the Autobots' energy signal.

As a runner, he'd had many modifications made to allow him to detect Autobots. No runner wanted to be caught by the enemy, especially not when carrying valuable information or weaponry. Terrorsaur knew how to mask his own energy signature, as well as follow the beacon sent out by others. Finding the Autobots' base in Detroit was hardly a problem.

The problem was…What the slag was that Elite Guard ship doing docked in their parking lot?

This was going to be a _lot_ harder than Terrorsaur imagined.

He touched down on the roof and perched with his wings folded back, watching for signs of any of the Autobots or even a glimpse of Wasp. Many mechs came and went throughout the course of the day, but none of them were ever alone long enough for him to swoop down and interrogate them without getting himself slagged in the process.

It was evening when a window of opportunity presented itself. Two of them had been arguing rather heatedly when they exited the warehouse. The argument continued halfway across the parking lot, erupting into a shouting match at one point, until one of them stormed off into the Elite Guard ship.

The other one remained there long enough for Terrorsaur to drop from the roof, silently transforming before he hit the ground. He landed easily, three feet or so away from the other mech, who looked a bit dejected and frustrated.

"Where is Wasp?" He kept his voice low and waited for the Autobot to turn. He always had loved that moment of initial terror that occurred when they realized he'd gotten the drop on them.

The Autobot half-turned, optics wide. He looked startled for a moment, but recovered quickly, countering the question with "Who are you?" as he looked Terrorsaur up and down, gaze coming to rest on the faded Decepticon insignia, expression shifting from curious to cautious.

"It doesn't matter who I am." The flyer waved a hand dismissively, "What matters is _your_ answer to _my_ question."

"I don't know." The red and blue mech frowned a little, warily regarding Terrorsaur. It had been a trying few days. Bumblebee was still recovering from the trauma of having Wasp try to steal his identity, Bulkhead was furious and scouring the city in search of the missing convict, Jazz and the jet twins were "helping" him and Sentinel was just making an overall nuisance of himself. Optimus wasn't quite sure what to do about the situation any more, and adding an encounter with a potentially hostile and dangerous Decepticon to the day's trials wasn't making it any easier.

"You don't know?" Terrorsaur's arms folded across his chest, optics narrowing to slits. "How do you not know? He was here, wasn't he?"

"Well, yes, but…" Another frown; Optimus had the feeling that whatever he said would fail to please this Decepticon. "When he realized he was outnumbered and facing capture, he ran off. We haven't seen him since."

At that, Terrorsaur snorted, turning to leave. "Of course…Leave it to you Autobots to screw up capturing one of your own. I suppose I'll have to go finish your job for you…"

'_A bounty hunter, perhaps?'_ Optimus found himself wondering. That thought lead to a less than savory conclusion. "Shockwave didn't send you, did he?" He asked the retreating Decepticon. "Or an Autobot called Longarm?"

"Shockwave?" Terrorsaur paused, sparing a glance over his shoulder at the Autobot, "Why would he have anything to do with…" As realization dawned, the flyer trailed off.

If the situation wasn't so serious, Optimus probably would have been laughing at the look on his face. As it was, the Prime was relatively relieved that the Decepticon seemed to have no idea what he was talking about. That made things slightly less complicated.

"You mean…He really is innocent?" Now it was the 'Con's turn to look surprised, "And Shockwave had something to do with…" He scowled, shaking his head a little, "Never mind; that's not important. What's important is that _you_ stop looking for him; he's _mine_."

He was gone in a matter of second, taking off and transforming at the same time. He propelled himself forwards with a few flaps of his wings and disappeared into the night, leaving Optimus alone in the parking lot, wondering what had just happened.


	15. In the Jungle

The vines, the roots, the rotting plant life…All of it was an inconvenience. Small flying things zipped around here and there, humming and buzzing with life. The organic growth was too dense; it made flying impossible. Animals fled as he worked his way through the mess of trees and leaves, searching for the coordinates the red and blue Autobot had given him.

Terrorsaur wasn't quite sure how Autobot had managed to track him down. He had feigned disinterest as the mech explained to him what had happened and given him a data pad containing the location of this "Dinobot Island" and Blackarachnia's lab. But now, days later, the 'bot's words rang through his processor, hauntingly painful.

"_He didn't seem like he knew what was going on. He was angry and scared and confused. I don't know if you're still looking for him, but I thought you should know…It seemed as if you cared for him…"_

His response had been silence, followed by the quiet admission that he "hadn't thought Wasp would survive." The Autobot had looked surprised, either by his tone or the admission; Terrorsaur wasn't sure which. It didn't matter, though. What that yahoo thought was of no concern. All that mattered was that Wasp was more than likely offline and deserved to be given a proper send off, rather than left to rust on some organic dust ball.

And that was how Terrorsaur found himself tromping for the first time through an organic jungle, rather than one comprised of steel and concrete, looking for the remains of some one he could only now, upon losing him, admit was a friend.

He told himself he was doing this to assuage the guilt. There were so many if only-s: If only he had treated the little runt better, maybe he wouldn't have left. If only he hadn't _told_ Wasp to leave…If he had only kept his big mouth shut! If only he had helped; if he had tried to assist the poor thing in his quest for revenge. They could have gone together; it would have been safer and everything could have gone well instead of to the Pit!

If only he had shown that he cared; admitted he was weak…Maybe the former Autobot could have just contented himself with life on the starhopper and forgotten about his revenge.

If only.

He was so caught up in these thoughts, he didn't notice the root until he was face first on the ground, his foot caught in a tangle of vines and undergrowth. Cursing violently, the flyer pushed himself up, freezing when a dark shadow fell over him.

There was silence for a moment, then something buzzed. The shadow shifted and Terrorsaur tried to force himself to move. Whatever it was that was behind him -that had been _following_ him- it was big.

"Wasp have wings now..." A familiar voice stated and Terrorsaur, systems cooling as dread flooded through him, turned, optics widening impossibly at the sight of the large, grotesque figure looming over him. One spindly hand reached for him, picking him up by the leg, and dangling him so they were optic to optic. "Can he come home again?"

There was another long silence, this time shattered by Terrorsaur's frightened screech.

Waspinator smiled, hand tightening around the flyer's limb. It was awfully funny how the tables had turned.


	16. With a Friend Like This

**Notes: **Yes, 9aza, the rest of this series is post-End Game. It's also clearly an alternative universe.

* * *

"W-Wasp…Is that really…you?" Terrorsaur was still dangling upside down, optic to optic with the creature who had once been something of a partner to him.

"Wasp not here any more…" The mech's voice suddenly changed, becoming deeper and more distorted and a whole slagging lot more creepy. He twitched his wings, drawing his insectoid face closer, "Spider-bot take care of him…" Those wide, purple optics narrowed and the clawed fingers around Terrorsaur's ankle tightened, "Just like Waspinator gonna take care of you!"

Now, Terrorsaur wouldn't call himself a coward. Rather, he liked to think of himself as a mech who strongly believed in self-preservation and he wanted to live to see another day. As such, he wasn't about to let his former friend slag him. There wasn't much he could do to escape, however; the overgrown bug's grasp was almost crushing. Still, he struggled valiantly, limbs flailing. "Lemme go, Wasp!" He frowned, swinging his arms, but too far away to strike the other mech, "I'm your friend!"

That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.

Terrorsaur suddenly found himself flung through the air, stopping only when he collided with the thick trunk of a tree. He slid to the ground, limp, as Wasp buzzed through the brush towards him, wings beating lightening quick.

"Friend? Friend? Not Wasp's friend! Use Wasp; let him do all the work! Then tell him 'go away and don't come back'!" He was looming again, towering over the cowering mech, "Not what friends do!"

"It's what Decepticons do." The red mech screeched, righting himself and looking warily at his now-taller companion. "I treated you better than I treat most mechs. I even went to the Autobots to find you. If they'd captured you, I would've broken you out!"

"No." In a matter of seconds, Terrorsaur found himself flying through the air again, Wasp darting after him with an angry buzz, "Is all just words. Never cared what happen to Wasp. Selfish; selfish; selfish! Why Waspinator gonna believe you now?" He snatched Terrorsaur up again, this time by a wing, and caught him about the waist with the other hand and tugged a little, as if he intended to tear the wing off.

"Stop, stop, STOP!" Terrorsaur shrieked, struggling for a moment, then going limp, submissive for probably the first time in his life. His wings were just that important and his desire to survive that strong. "Maybe you're right and you don't have to believe me…But!" He squealed a little as the wasp made a threatening sound and pulled again, "That Autobot told me you were offline! He said you exploded and there was no way you could've survived! But I came anyway to find you!" He whimpered, desperate now, "I'm here!"

Wasp stilled, cocking his head and peering at his captive as if trying to determine whether he was being truthful or not. Even his wings stopped fluttering, the static-y buzzing fading to nothing. _I came anyway to find you…_ No one had ever come looking for him before. _I'm here!_ Wasp didn't know what to think. No one had _ever_ cared. His grip slackened, expression wavering between loathing and want; hostility and hope.

And Terrorsaur found himself on the ground again, this time dropped unceremoniously by the bug. He looked up at Wasp, feeling small for the first time in his life, and wondered if his friend was too far gone to save.


	17. Catfight

The first thing Terrorsaur did when Wasp presented him to Blackarachnia was haul off and punch her in the face.

The fact that she was female didn't mean a thing to him. He didn't care to hear her side of the story. The three large mechs milling around didn't prevent him from striking her. All that mattered was that she had done this to him; she had changed Wasp.

She stumbled back a step, spider legs arching over her shoulders as a warning. The biggest of her apparent body guards snarled, lunging and snapping his jaws, but she held up a small hand and he stilled, looking between the two of them warily. Wasp simply froze, looking surprised and unsure what to do.

And Terrorsaur remained where he was, hands curled into fists, optics narrowed to slits.

"What the slag did you do to him?" He demanded, crouching defensively and circling widely around her. He had never seen a Cybertronian quite like her before and had no idea what she was capable of. Though Terrorsaur was not a fan of the unknown, he knew he had to do this, if only for the person Wasp used to be.

Blackarachnia watched him, taking note of his size and the similarities between him and the silent Dinobot, Swoop. She could break this little annoyance, if she wanted; he didn't appear to have any weapons. She wasn't sure where Wasp had found him, but the two flyers seemed to know one another.

A predatory smile crossed her face and she brushed past him, padding across the lab towards Wasp, who fluttered his wings a little at her approach. "You should be pleased." She glanced over her shoulder at Terrorsaur, "I made him better."

"He was fine the way he was!" Terrorsaur snapped, arms folding across his chest as he glared up at the large spider, "You didn't help."

"He was small and weak before." A silent 'like you' hung in the air for a moment and Blackarachnia smirked, continuing, "I fixed those problems."

"You nearly offlined him!" The words came out with a furious shriek; Terrorsaur was absolutely livid.

"He's in perfect working order." She smiled again, punctuating the statement with a little nod of her head, one finger tracing swirling patterns across Wasp's chest plate. The large insect made a low humming sound at the touch, one foot tapping a little on the cement floor, claw-like fingers flexing.

Terrorsaur watched, optics narrowing, fists clenching. How dare she touch him…How _dare_ she! There was no possible way she knew Wasp; no possible way she could understand him. And there was no way a hussy like her really cared about the former Autobot. Taking a step closer to the two technorganic Transformers, Terrorsaur let out a warning hiss, pulling a weapon out of Primus-knows-where and training it on her. "Get your filthy hands away from him!" He growled, cocking the gun and advancing another step.

There was another moment of silence before a slow grin blossomed across the femme's face and understanding lit her optics. "Oh, I see." Another smirk, "How cute…You _love_ him."

"No!" The denial was too emphatic; too soon, before she even finished the sentence. As soon as the words tumbled out of his vocalizer, the flyer knew she would never believe him.

"Oh yes." Her smile was absolutely delighted by that point, full of malice. "But you screwed up, didn't you?" She propped a hand on her hip, posture casual but still alluring, "You had it all and now you have _nothing_. Better luck next time, flyboy."

Wasp saw and recognized the look of absolute fury that passed across the red mech's face, and he took a step back from Blackarachnia just as Terrorsaur _lunged_, shrieking in rage, weapon subspaced again, because he preferred to attack with fists and claws.

It was over in a matter of mere seconds, what could have been a catfight of epic proportions ending with the red flyer paralyzed on the floor. Blackarachnia simply stepped over his limp body, pausing to look back over her shoulder at Wasp as she exited the lab. "You can do whatever the slag you want to with that loser," She informed him, "And I hope you enjoy yourself, because if he _ever_ does that again, I'm going to let Grimlock have him for lunch."


	18. Language Barrier

**Notes:** This is kind of a little silly side story that I wrote for this series. It's not actually a part of the plot.

* * *

"Scrawk?"

"Craw."

"Squaaaawk!"

"Rawk rawk."

"Crooo…"

It had been going on for nearly a megacycle. In the beginning, all of them had been observing, watching Swoop's hands waving animatedly, head bobbing as he…squawked. Terrorsaur was a little less enthusiastic, arms folded across his chest, head cocked as he listened. Occasionally, he would reply with a little trilling sound of his own, and Swoop would smile and nod and generally look pretty pleased.

After a while, Snarl grew bored and wandered off, probably in search of some small animal to chase or a tree to uproot. Blackarachnia rolled her optics, muttering something about being surrounded by idiots and stalked off, claiming she needed some beauty rest.

For a moment, Grimlock looked torn between following her and keeping up his careful watch over Swoop. In the end, the other Dinobot won out and he remained there, observing intently.

Until he turned to the only other spectator still present, looking confused. "What him Swoop doing with him Terrorsaur?" He asked suspiciously.

Wasp shrugged, wings fluttering, and tipped his head to regard the two. Swoop looked delighted, all lively and chipper. Terrorsaur, on the other hand, merely looked bored. "They talking, Waspinator think." He offered.

Grimlock frowned, glancing back over at the duo. "But…him Swoop not talk." He said slowly, brow furrowing as he tried to puzzle through the anomaly of his fellow Dinobot communicating verbally.

"Maybe…" Wasp was still watching them, and a hint of his old smile ghosted across his face as Terrorsaur lightly patted the other flyer's wing and Swoop crooned happily, "Maybe he just need some one who speaks same language."


	19. The L Word

**Notes:** Glad you guys liked the little side story. Now…Back to the plot!

* * *

"Did she touch you?"

Wasp looked down at Terrorsaur, head tipped to the side curiously. He frowned a little, twitching a wing and wondering why his companion would ask a silly thing like that. "Of course spider-bot touch." His tone suggested that the red mech must have been an idiot to ask the question. "Always poking at to figure out how can undo what she do to Waspinator."

"That's not what I meant!" Terrorsaur scowled, glaring up at the other mech. He hated the size difference between the two of them; he was used to being much bigger than the other. But now…He felt small and helpless, especially since any move he made against the spider would result in either the Dinobots pulverizing him or another poisoning.

"Then what _does_ Terror-con mean?" Another cock of his head and Wasp huffed a little, arms folding, wings flicking once in displeasure.

Though he wasn't really sure he wanted to know the answer, Terrorsaur knew he had to ask the question. It was suddenly very important to know. "Did she touch you…like I do?"

For a moment, Wasp looked startled by the question. He pulled back, wings stiffening in surprise, optics wide. "Why you think _that_?"

"Did she?" Terrorsaur's voice rose, growing more shrill, claws curling into fists at his sides. It was important; he needed to know. Because if she had…If she had taken advantage of him or touched him or _abused_ him…She would have to die.

Much to his horror, Wasp began to laugh, wiry body shaking as the buzzing, staticy sound filled the dank room. "Spider-bot is right!" He cackled, claws flexing, wings fluttering in amusement. "You do love! Acting like pathetic lovesick sparkling!"

Terrorsaur took a step back, fighting the urge to cover his audio receptors with his hands. It only serve to make him look even more pathetic, and besides, it wouldn't block out the terrible sound of the overgrown insect's laugh.

It was as he'd feared, then. Wasp was too far lost within the shell of this _monster_; Terrorsaur would never have his friend back. He had thought that, perhaps at one time, the former Autobot would have jumped at the chance to stay with him. He had thought that Wasp loved _him_!

Apparently, he had been wrong. Wasp didn't care and all control over the situation had rapidly slipped from Terrorsaur's grasp. And Wasp didn't seem to have any idea the sacrifice the Decepticon had made for him; had no idea how Terrorsaur had set aside his pride and ego to come chasing after him, wanting to fix all of the things he did wrong. He didn't know and he didn't care to listen. He had no desire to understand.

As the insect's laughter continued, Terrorsaur could feel the hurt slowly fading, only to be replaced by something else: white hot anger. So Wasp thought it was funny, did he? Wasp thought it was all a joke. Wasp thought that Terrorsaur's feelings were something to be trod upon.

The red flyer was so angry, he was trembling, hands still curled into fists at his side. He glared at the other mech with a look so intense it could have sheered through solid steel, willing him to cease his laughter, telling himself if only Wasp would _stop_…

He didn't.

"You know what? Slag you!" The words burst out of Terrorsaur's mouth -sounding so juvenile and pathetic- before he could stop them. "I don't need this. I don't deserve it, either. And I don't slagging need _you._" Again, his voice was rising in pitch, becoming more and more shrill with each word, "I hope you have fun with her. I hope she's everything you want, because you're never going to see me again. _Ever!_"

And with that, he stormed off, fighting the urge to turn right around and apologize, say he had been wrong all along, anything that would make Wasp see reason and leave with him. He had already sacrificed enough of his pride for the ungrateful insect; he'd be damned if he gave up his last shred of dignity as well.

He tried to keep himself angry; to console himself with the thought that Wasp wasn't worth all of this. That _nothing_ was worth all of this; that he could get his life back to normal and he would be far better off without Wasp anyway.

But in his spark, he knew he was only lying to himself again.


	20. All's Well

**Notes:** Welcome to the end of the story. I didn't write this until six months after most of the rest of the story, so it might not jive quite right, but…I wanted it to be a happy ending.

I do have some parts of this fic that never made it into the story proper. If you'd like to read them, let me know and I can add them on as more bonus chapters or deleted scenes or something.

Thanks to every one who's read and reviewed!

* * *

"Wasp loved you."

Terrorsaur had known Wasp was there all along -he was far from stealthy, what with the droning buzz of his constantly moving new wings- but chose to ignore him until he spoke.

The bug had followed him, a fact which left Terrorsaur greatly chagrined. He thought he had made it perfectly clear that he wanted _nothing_ to do with Wasp, but it was apparently as hard as always to get things through the slagger's thick cranial plating. Wasp had always been a little slow. It had taken him three days to chase Terrorsaur down, after all.

The red flier hadn't been able to bring himself to leave the island, no matter what he'd said. Somewhere deep down, he had hoped the ghost of his friend that he glimpsed from time to time would shine through; that the hideous being that had once been Wasp would recognize and understand the ties that bound them to one another.

And Wasp had come, in the end. Terrorsaur wasn't sure what to think…It was what he wanted, but…Somehow, it was wrong.

"But all you do is hurt Wasp…Hurt him so much he don't wanna even be Wasp any more!" Wasp's clawed fingers were curled into fists, wings held stiff and high. He looked angry still and he had nothing to be angry about!

Wasp should have been _apologizing _to him.

Terrorsaur said nothing, just curled further in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chest and staring out over the lush foliage.

"What did it matter any more? Wasp had no home, no one believe he innocent, couldn't finish off Bumblebot. And now Wasp is _gone_; Spider-bot got rid of-"

"I know you're innocent." The pteranodon interrupted him, rising suddenly to his feet and whirling to face the larger flyer. Wasp's anger was making _him_ angry; this was nothing a good shouting match wouldn't solve. "I know I was a jerk to you. And I know Wasp isn't gone. You _are_ Wasp!" He strode purposefully towards the other mech, wrapping golden claws around his thin arms and giving him a shake, screeching, "You have a new body, but you're still you! And I came looking for _you!_ I don't want any one else!"

Wasp looked down at him, surprised, as Terrorsaur blurted out the words. He never in a million years would have believed -despite the evidence of the past few days- that Terrorsaur cared about him; even when he'd taunted the pteranodon about loving him, he hadn't believed it. He didn't _want_ to believe it, because love would only lead to more pain. "Terrorsaur…wants Waspinator?" He said slowly, some of the buzz fading from his voice.

"I want _Wasp._ I want you. The ship is boring without you and I…I'm _miserable_ without you." Terrorsaur was nothing if not dramatic; that was one of the things about him that had appealed to Wasp in the first place. "I thought you didn't matter; I thought I could use you for amusement and pleasure and then just throw you away, but slaggit…" The three hardest words he would ever have to say; they came tumbling out of their own accord, "I was wrong."

Wasp's wings twitched, casting pale shadows on the ground behind them.

He waited.

"I need you…So please. Let's get the frag out of here. Let's go; I don't care where. The ship is still docked in Warren and we could leave. No one will miss us…" Terrorsaur was not above begging, not when he really wanted something, "Come on, Wasp…It can be like before."

It could never be like before.

But Wasp _really_ wanted it to be.

"Yes." The distortion almost completely vanished from his voice -he sounded almost like his old self again- and with it went some of his anger. No longer did he want revenge, or to hurt Terrorsaur the way he'd been hurt…

He wanted his spot under the computer console, his chores, the blissful interface sessions followed by the reluctant-but-comforting cuddles. The familiarity of Terrorsaur's screechy voice, his teasing and banter, the way he showed he cared without knowing it…

He just wanted to go home.

"We fly…Together."

Before Terrorsaur had a chance to realize what was happening to him, Wasp had snatched him around the wrist, launching from the ground and dragging the red mech -squawking- behind him. Wasp's delicate wings caught the wind and he glided for a moment, releasing the other flyer from his clutches and listening for the telltale crack of Terrorsaur's leathery wings filling with air as he transformed mid-air.

Wasp flitted ahead, pausing to roll playfully through the air, transparent wings a blur. Terrorsaur flapped gracefully behind him at a more sedate pace, relieved that they could put this saga behind them and get on with their lives.

Together.


	21. Bonus Part: Apology Not Necessary

**Notes: **So. This was originally intended to be a real part of "Turnabout," but I apparently never finished it. It also wound up running a lot longer than most parts of Turnabout, even when incomplete.

Well, I finished it and decided it would be a little bit of a bonus side story for Turnabout.

The Community Studies Team (CST) is a division of the science and research branch of the Cybertronian government that I created some time ago. It was established in order to learn about and understand other worlds through the process of visiting planets which house intelligent, sentient life forms and immersing Cybertronians in their cultures and customs. Motormouth and Skyjack –who are clearly OCs- are members of the CST.

Anyway!

Fic.

* * *

"…So then I said to him 'Oh yeah, well I can top that one!' and he was like 'no slaggin' way!' and I started tellin' that story about when Jetstream and Divebomb were working together on that project with the explosives from…"

There were reasons Wasp usually wanted to stay aboard the starhopper when he and Terrorsaur stopped for supplies.

They didn't always stop in Autobot-friendly territory. There was the chance some one might recognize him, no matter how far away from the stockade they were. The Elite Guard could always be after them and if they caught Wasp outside the ship, they'd drag him back. Even in faction-neutral ports, there were always mechs itching for a fight, no matter what. There were a whole slew of reasons he should stay aboard.

But the most important one, in his mind, was that he _hated_when people looked at him funny over his twitchy, erratic behavior or the way he spoke. He was still vain; somewhere deep down inside he was still himself and still believed that he was better than most. That illusion was shattered when he set foot outside the starhopper.

Terrorsaur, of course, usually dragged him off the little ship anyway.

It was the worst in neutral territory; there were always curious Autobots around. At least when they docked in Decepticon areas, for the most part, no one cared one way or the other why an former-Autobot was traveling with a Decepticon. It was pretty clear to any one that Terrorsaur ran the show and Wasp was little more than his slave.

This particular bar wasn't the usual seedy dive; the last shipment they'd delivered for Swindle must've been a big one. Terrorsaur, as he usually did, simply strolled through the door like he owned the place, Wasp skulking along behind him. The flyer had bought a cube for him, shoving it into his hands with orders to stay put where he was, and vanished into the crowd, leaving poor Wasp alone and surrounded by unfamiliar mechs.

And that was how he'd found himself privy to the story about Jetstream and Divebomb and their explosives. The mech telling the story was an orange chatterbox, similar in make to Wasp himself. He didn't pause once in his story, words flowing from his vocal processor at a dizzying pace. His companion, a patient-looking, dark green mech nodded occasionally, clearly only half-listening to the story as he glanced about the dim room for familiar faces.

"…And I swear, the explosion was big enough to rival one of Wheeljack's experiments gone wrong; when the smoke cleared, none of us expected to see either Jetstream or Divebomb still online and functional. As it was, 'Stream was missing part of an arm and Divebomb was covered in scorch marks. Well, we all told 'Stream it was a bad idea to…"

Wasp wasn't particularly interested in the story either, but found himself listening to it simply because he had nothing better to do. He had no clue where Terrorsaur had gone to and he wasn't about to go looking for him. He'd been told to stay and stay he would. He didn't intend to leave his seat until it was time to go, except…

Something large and boxy suddenly crashed into him, knocking the small-framed Autobot into the dark green mech seated beside him. For a moment, Wasp fumbled with his cube of energon, trying to keep it steady before - Slag.

The green mech looked down at his arm and the glowing pink mess covering it, then glanced at the smaller transformer. Wasp wilted under the gaze, certain he was about to meet his end. This Autobot was _big_; bigger than average and therefore a threat to Wasp's wellbeing.

"Hey!" The orange loudmouth slid from his seat, hands on his hips, "You can't do that without apologizing!" He was hardly intimidating; he wasn't any taller than Wasp himself. But he was scowling and ramrod straight, as if he were trying to appear more authoritative and bigger than he actually was.

Besides, a lot of things made Wasp nervous.

"Motormouth…" The green mech, designated Skyjack, sighed, pulling a cleaning rag from subspace and mopping the spilled fuel off his arm, "Cool it." Honestly, it was no big deal. Accidents happened and Skyjack wasn't too upset about it. But he also knew Motormouth; knew that he spoke before he processed and that his big mouth got him in trouble often.

Said mech ignored his companion, the frown on his face intensifying as he took a step closer to Wasp. "Apologize!" He demanded, chin hitching up, arms rising to fold across his chest plate.

Now, Wasp was already pretty spooked by the encounter; his time in the stockade had made him somewhat submissive, where he had once been domineering and demanding. But this Autobot, who shared his body-type and did not bear the brand of the Elite Guard, was making him angry - How dare he presume to be better, when they were practically one in the same?

He debated with himself for a moment, the vindictive part at war with the easily-frightened part. He wanted to punch this arrogant aft in the face. He wanted to cower under the bar until they left. He wanted to go running to Terrorsaur, who would surely slag them both, simply because they were Autobots.

…He apologized instead.

"Wazzzpz…not czzzkt-mean to." He stammered, vocalizer tripping over the words, catching on consonants and emitting a buzz. His raging emotions put a lot of strain on his already-addled processor, making it difficult to get things out without distortion and he felt humiliation rising as the two Autobot's faces shifted at the sound of his words. "Wazzzz…Accident! Something bump Wazzp, knockzzzt Wazzzp into…kfftzzzz…" He snapped his mouth shut as the words dissolved into nothing more than static and the orange mech grinned, turning to his companion.

"Listen to the way this guy talks! Slag, he'd make an excellent test subject for you, 'Jack. I wonder what kind of things you could learn about language from a mech like that!" He burst out, seemingly forgetting all about his annoyance, "Maybe you should ask him if he'll come back to the lab with us!"

Wasp took a step back, surprised. This was not what he'd been expecting. Laughter was the usual response, as well as snide comments about his broken speech patterns. But not this! The green mech was looking at him, fascination obvious in his optics, and Wasp found he couldn't help the little buzz that slipped out. Frag, this was not a good situation! If they tried to take him anywhere, it would all be over. They would find out he was a wanted fugitive and then anything they would do to him would be a welcome intrusion compared to what would happen when he was dragged back to the stockade.

In the following second, two things occurred simultaneously. Skyjack shook his head, seeming to snap out of whatever daze he'd fallen into as he stared at Wasp. "Mute it!" He snapped at Motormouth, just as a hand came down on Wasp's arm, startling the already jittery little mech enough for him to jump nearly a foot off the ground.

"Is there a problem here?" Where Terrorsaur had materialized from, Wasp was uncertain, but he had never been more glad to see the fragging Decepticon in his life. The red flyer's mouth was a thin slash across his angular face, optics narrowed to slits. He certainly didn't like others coveting what was his and it showed.

"No." The big green mech responded dutifully, "Just a little spill." He cocked his head, studying Terrorsaur as well, "And my companion here," He indicated Motormouth, "As usual, got carried away."

Terrorsaur spared a nanosec to glance at the orange Autobot, who looked sufficiently sheepish, then swiveled his gaze back to Skyjack. "Then why does he," He jerked a claw at Wasp, who cowered behind him, "look like he's afraid of being slagged? You magnanimous Autobots wouldn't be threatening one of you own, would you?" A sneer crossed his face, expression growing ugly, "You would _never_do something like that."

Skyjack's expression remained mild; if anything, he looked downright bored. "No." He replied evenly, "No, I wouldn't do something like that. It just happens that I am a member of the Community Studies Team -a linguist- and your friend's…unusual speech pattern intrigued me."

"You had better forget any thoughts you might have about studying him." Terrorsaur growled, tone threatening, posture suggesting aggression if either of them made a sudden move, "Forget you even saw him." And with that, the flyer's expression tightened even more, optics mere slits, and he snatched Wasp by the wrist, making to haul him out the door. He moved a few stiff-yet-graceful steps, then paused, casting a black look at the two CST members. "The fraggin' Autobot government has already done more than enough for him."

The hostility and tension was palpable in the air. Neither of them moved, just watched as the red mech all but dragged Wasp through the crowd. Once they disappeared from sight, Skyjack shook his head. "Decepticons…"

"That was really, really weird!" Motormouth piped up, "I mean, did he think he owned that Autobot or something? He was acting all strange and the whole thing was bizarre…"

Terrorsaur scowled at the sound of Motormouth's loud voice drifting over the din of the crowd and he tightened his hold on Wasp. "And you." He snapped at the small mech in his grasp, "Never _ever_ apologize. _Especially _not to Autobots!"

Wasp didn't say anything, just followed mutely behind.

He was already regretting the apology.


End file.
